


Promise

by 19Thedas80 (VictoryRoad)



Series: 19Thedas80 [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoryRoad/pseuds/19Thedas80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull, a star on the field, doesn't quite get his roommate. Still, he never expected a prim and proper mage to come home reeking of alcohol and with cheeks puffier than his own.</p><p>An alternate, explicit ending can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6595228</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for a twitter friendo's birthtimes.

The Iron Bull had a fixed post-game ritual: ten minutes in the dorm shower, when no one was around to complain about using too much water. It was a different environment to the gym shower – that was all games and fun and misfiring towel-flicks, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to take his time, a gentle soap and lather searching and diving deep in the crevices and curves of his body that a communal shower was too public to reach. Make no mistake – the Iron Bull had no concerns with showering in public, this was his second shower of the night, but he believed in focus during the proper task. If he played the game, he would be a mess – mud, sweat and blood (if he was lucky), and the risk of missing it turned from a thing-to-laugh-about-in-bed to a dealbreaker too many times for his taste.

The men and women of UFSH were much more delicate than his hometown-tumbles back at Seheron High, but here he was, and this was what he had to deal with. Hiding in the dorm shower when everyone else was asleep, running his hands over chest and thigh, ass and shoulder, until he was certain every inch had been scrubbed clean enough for the ironically named dog lords of UFSkyhold-Haven. Hell, the people of Ferelden were called dog lords by their own people, how did they have a problem with a little mud and blood? He would have to blame it on the eastern Orlesians going to a University of Fereldan college. It was an old Qunari prejudice but everyone else shared it enough for him not to care too much about Orlais-born tears.

He ran his hands in wide circles, water running thick over his skin in day’s-use-weakened pressure, his hands tightening into a grip to get the last few missing spots as he turned his back to the showerhead. He’d joke about how thorough he had to be with the Chargers, they knew that’s why he took a second shower after them. He didn’t hide it. He went into intimate details about how strongly he had to paw at his crotch, they all laughed at that one, but he knew his roommate would faint in upper-middle-class shock if he ever brought it up. He didn’t quite understand the bunking arrangements, but that’s what computers were for. The running theory was that differential pairings were an education department scheme – a test to see if opposites encouraged more productive solo work. There was no proof, but it had to be the case. Sera, the scraping-through art student next door, swore as much when it came to being saddled with a religious-studies-and-war-history double major. He turned the knobs, pulled a towel around himself and decided that if Dorian was there, he’d scandalise him for the hell of it.

“Hey, how you doin’?” He flirted, shooting a sly wink at a passing couple. The man – an elven boy, really – got suddenly protective, his arm flying out to pull the human girl closer. _Not who I meant, handsome, but I wouldn’t turn her away either_. The thought put a wider smirk on Bull’s face as he pushed open his door. “Anyone home?” He called out. No, no one was. He let the towel drop as he crossed the room to find something more resembling clothes. Fereldan clothes weren’t made for Qunari bodies – there were plenty of big men and women here, but they were a different shape to the naturally mountainous followers of the Qun. Everything that fit him seemed to have stripes or some other pointless gaud. He liked a bit of tackiness, but the bright red stripes were getting to be overkill. Fereldan had a fashion problem, and the Bull – if only for a moment – wondered if he was the first Qunari to be bothered by this.

With a foot passing through the first undergarment he found, Bull smirked at the sound of an opening door and an exasperated yell.

“ _Maker,_ ” came a defeated voice, dripping with the long-vowels of a well-pickled man, “Every  _fucking_ time.”

“I’ll get this beautiful vista out of your face in a minute,” Bull called back, pulling the fabric up and over him as best he could. “I only just got in. You can’t hold that against me.”

“I can hold you and your- your…” How much had Pavus had to drink? The man was far from the composed Vint the Bull was used to. “Your  _jockstraps_ , that you don’t even wear for  _sport,_ that you keep in a  _basket…_ ” Changing stresses. Something was up. That was a sign to pull on something resembling pyjama bottoms – but not before plucking the strapping of his jockstrap to make sure it sat comfortably. Dorian’s groan was audibly contemptable, but the sound he made falling onto the couch took all the fun out of laundry-fresh pyjama bottoms.

“I… Andraste’s tits, Pavus, I only just did my laundry. I just hadn’t put it away.” He folded his arms somewhat disapprovingly, finally casting an eye over the visibly pink and  _definitely_ upset face of his roommate. He was a fucking academic – at least, hopeful for it. He didn’t think academics got upset, they just glowered sternly at more books than usual. “I suppose I could put it away… more often…”

Damn it, comfort wasn’t in the Bull’s inventory. He knew plenty of things, lots of tips and tricks to bolster the preternatural swagger that glided him from bed to bed, but comforting someone like Dorian was… more difficult. Pavus was a mage – a born quality that amounted to little more than parlour tricks and the odd convenient cigarette light. There was enough noise out there about how awful they were, though, especially back home. Maybe some of it was...  _No,_ Bull thought,  _This isn’t a mage problem._ Seheron wasn’t well known for its tolerance to diversity beyond what was considered useful – mages were not that at all. He’d tried to unlearn a lot in Fereldan, but plenty still lingered.

“Why, uh…” He perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch, his heavy frame carving valleys around the slender body of his roommate. He was such a slight thing, really. It was a wonder he didn’t break. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like you care,” Dorian scoffed to the Bull’s surprise.

“Hey now, I care.” Bull turned to their side table – a half-glass of water he’d left still sat there. For how long, he wondered? He couldn’t remember when he last blobbed out in front of their TV. Must have been days. He summoned the courage and took a sip, anything to distract himself. Why was he so strange around Dorian? They were both strangers in a strange land – even if Vints and Qunari had a history akin to a drunken fistfight. “Look, I…” He clasped the glass tightly, a ring tapping against it lightly. An old token. Barely worth remembering, he wasn’t that guy right now.

“When I was younger, maybe around… seventeen, I think? Anyway, I was on this trip. Standard Qun school stuff. We still do all the old-time things. I was a Ben-Hassrath. Fancy name for spy. It’s a bit like being a Fereldan Boy Scout. You forage, you learn things… We learned debating, etiquette, things to blend in. Supposedly, we’re meant to use it to serve the Qun. I do, sometimes. The odd letter to the Arishok. The odd letter back that’s only really signed with his name. It’s all nonsense, ceremony at this point, but it engages the _followers,_ you know? Anyway, I was seventeen, learning to be an old-world spy in the worst way possible, when I came across this boy. He was in the bushes, making noises. I went to look. There he is, getting with this girl. She must have snuck into the camp. He was  _going_ for it. Anyway, I interrupt. You know, a polite cough. He pulls out like lightning and it’s all hands over his crotch. She’s shocked and looking for cover. I laugh, and I say to him, ‘You weren’t nearly as into it when I did that to you, man’. He goes bright red, and the girl turns to him and say ‘You fucked the Bull  _too?!’_ Ah.” Bull took a deep breath, a light chuckle coming through in the lower tones, “Great couple. Got married too young but I don’t judge.”

Dorian looked up for a moment, stunned. “ _Maker_ ,” He breathed in raspy tones, “Why would you tell me that?” The young Pavus slid backwards on the couch, his torso coming upright and his legs moving inwards. Bull had his first proper, lit view of his face. Those were definitely tears – Dorian tended to experiment with gender somewhat more than other students, and it seemed like even if he wasn’t wearing  _makeup,_ he’d at least tried out some mascara for wherever he’d been. A date, maybe? Did Dorian even date?

“C’mon, tell me it didn’t distract you just a  _little_ bit?” Iron Bull smirked. Dorian’s face dropped for a moment, before a low and panting laugh spit forth. Only for a second, of course, but it was enough to satisfy the Bull. “See? All better.”

“You think that’s it?” Dorian’s jaw gaped slightly. “You don’t comfort much, do you?”

“Not in practice,” Bull said, turning back to the cup in his hands. “We’re a stoic people.”

“So are we,” Dorian said, reaching into his jacket. Out came a flask, a beautiful silver, but Bull couldn’t even guess at the liquor – it met Pavus’ lips far too quickly as the young student seemed to inhale it.

“Woah, slow down there. You’re drinking like a Qunari. Slight wee thing like you, I figure that’s gotta shave about ten years off you.” Bull reached a hand towards him, but Dorian pulled back. He wasn’t sure if it was resistance to the larger man’s presence or just a protectiveness over his alcohol. Either way, Bull took the hint. He understood boundaries, he wasn’t an animal. “How about you try talk me through it. Maybe I have some sage counsel for you… or at least a story about asses to take your mind off it.”

Dorian scoffed for a moment, his body curling into a withdrawn, but certainly much more  _upright,_ position. His face was streaky, and his cheeks were puffy, but underneath it all was still the same mustachio’d nerd that Bull argued with so much.

“Alright, fine. If you must know, I…  _maker_.” He took another drink, making a face that suggested he was getting low. and settle back into the couch a little, one arm still tightly pulling his knees towards him. “OK, Fine. I had a few too many to drink… At one of Dean Vivienne’s Salons.”

“So you drank too much!” Bull laughed, slapping a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. The younger man flinched, and Bull quickly reassessed the things he did on instinct. “Sorry, force of habit. Anyway, drinking, we all do it. I do it too much! That political type a few doors down, Blackwall, the guy standing for the Warden party, he homebrews the most noxious stuff this side of the Crestwood Bridge. A few of those and we were both dancing naked on the top of Vice-Chancellor Cullen’s office. Boy, did he-”

“Fuck’s  _sake, Bull!_ ” Dorian yelled, his flask flying across the room. He shot upwards like lightning, Iron Bull’s face stunned by the outburst. He was so _quiet,_ though.  _Maker._

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. This is how I deal with things, OK? We’re not a big sort-out-feelings people.”

“You think  _I_ am? I had too many drinks at a goddamn salon and accidentally quoted  _seven slave-owners in a row._ I mean, I’m from Tevinter. All we did was change the law to rename it. I grew up surrounded by great man histories of slave owners and after a handful of Andraste-blessed drinks I suddenly start quoting them all! I told an Elven girl to read the works of Darinius in front of Madame de Fer, the only person outside of the wasteland of Tevinter who could have put me on the academic track. I lost the goddamn  _game,_ Bull. I’m done.”

He dropped to his knees, slumped against the TV cabinet. “I’m done.”

“Hey now,” Bull said, pulling himself up on tired legs. “Don’t uh… Don’t be… cry?” He let himself descend as gently as the Iron Bull could alongside him. Dorian pulled away, but Bull stayed put. “There’s plenty out there. If Dean Viviwhatser actually controlled anything, she’d be doing  _that_ and not inviting first-years to fancy parties. Don’t get me wrong, I know she’s got clout, but she’s not gonna blacklist you for being an asshole who needs to unlearn some shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dorian said, a hand grasping awkwardly for the flask that was probably already empty. “Tell me how you  _really_ feel, why don’t you.”

“Hey, I’m an asshole too. Strangers in a strange land - it brings it out in us, you know?” Bull leaned back, settling into his seat and letting his legs unfurl from their awkward perch. “Hell, I’m Qunari. You know how many people here are afraid of that? Everything’s a conspiracy. I play on that  _so_ much. It’s fun. It’s also doing shit for my fellow Qunari, who’re getting dirty looks from anyone I messed with. I don’t know much about Fereldan other than I got offered a scholarship to be here. I fuck things up constantly.” Bull’s head rested against the wall, his horns sitting lilted against aged white topcoat. “The only things I know how to do are drink, screw and live in Seheron. Fucking up is about all I’ve got. I’m OK with that.”

“… I suppose you’re right.” Dorian shifted, his body moving closer to the Bull. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Bull knew he needed this. Giving people what they needed - that was the one thing he could do. “I just…” A drunken hand slipped around Bull’s arm as Dorian’s weight shifted. They sat there, pregnant pauses as the younger man’s head fell to a bruised and battered shoulder. “I just wish I felt more in control.”

“We all do,” Bull said, wrapping his arm around him. “Not having control is probably the one thing everyone has in common.” He held the young mage close, two fingers running gently through his hair in the way that he knew Qunari mothers used to do, comforting in a tactile rhythm. “You’re gonna be OK, Dorian. Everything will be OK.”

“Thank you,” Pavus breathily intoned, the familiar sound of a drunk man finally succumbing to the night. “You’re… You’re comfortable.” He said, lifting his head ever-so-slightly, his thick-and-toxic breath filling Bull with a familiar frenzy.

“Hey.” Pavus’ lips were a half-inch from Bull’s face, but the bigger man pulled back. “Not like this. Not until you don’t make me want a beer.” Dorian’s head dropped without resistance, perching heavily on his shoulder once again. Bull continued his slow rhythm, letting the young man rest, dipping his own head to join him in sleep. “You’ll be OK,” He whispered gently. “Promise.”


End file.
